


quantification

by youcouldmakealife



Series: but always in tandem [31]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:54:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9476588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Why are you doing this?” Matty asks after a minute. “With him?”“I like torturing myself,” Robbie says, and can’t hold back a laugh that sounds as ugly as it feels.“I really wish you were kidding,” Matty says, soft.





	

Off days aren’t really off days when you’re following the scores of other games because your fate’s written in them. The thing is, you can control whether you win or lose a game, to an extent, but you can’t control whether a team on your heels wins or loses. It’s stressful, helpless, scoreboard watching, and Robbie knows some guys give in and watch those games or check the boxscore every five minutes on their phones, but Robbie doesn’t want to dwell on it, so he’s counting on the good ol’ distraction of orgasms. Or, more accurately, he maybe gave in and checked the boxscores every five minutes until nine, when he couldn’t stand it anymore and went to Georgie’s room in order to guarantee his hands would be off his phone until the games were over.

At the pace Georgie’s fucking him right now, he won’t be touching his phone until the _Western_ Conference games are over. The way Georgie’s fucking him is sweet and slow and something Robbie emphatically doesn’t want from him, today or ever again. Better hard and fast and dirty when that’s exactly what they are.

“If you’re trying to fucking make sweet sweet love to me or whatthefuckever, you can stop,” Robbie grits out.

Georgie rests his head between Robbie’s shoulderblades. “I’m just fucking wiped, dude.”, he says, and sounds it.

Robbie gets it. End of season, everyone’s burnt out, tapping into what’s left of their reserves. If Robbie hadn’t done playoffs before, he’d think there was nothing left in him, in them, but he knows the second they start up, everyone finds something in themself they didn’t think was there. 

In the meantime, though, they’re all fucking exhausted. 

“Fine,” Robbie says. “But only because I’m tired too and you’re doing all the work.”

He can feel Georgie’s mouth quirk against his skin like a kiss. 

“Well, get to it already,” Robbie says, and Georgie’s laughing even as he’s shoving Robbie’s shoulders down. After that, it may be slow, but no one would mistake it for sweet, not even Robbie.

*

After they fuck, it’s really hard to make himself move, like as soon as Georgie mentioned being tired the accumulation of hurts and strain throughout the season crashed upon Robbie’s head. Typical fucking Georgie, making everything in Robbie’s life worse without even trying.

Robbie moves anyway, because he shouldn’t be here. Like, obviously he shouldn’t, and he shouldn’t have any of the other times either, but they have a key game tomorrow, one that can make all the difference because Tampa’s right on their heels, trying to snatch their spot, and what Robbie should be doing is chilling and watching TV with Matty, not leaning over the edge of Georgie’s bed to pick his his underwear up off the floor.

“Stick around for a bit,” Georgie says.

“But Matty gets so lonely without me,” Robbie says, getting out of bed to pull his briefs on. He can feel Georgie looking at him, and hey, who could blame him? Robbie’s got it on good authority he’s got a great ass. Not just Georgie’s authority either, though he wasn’t exactly shy about how much he loved it. Still isn’t. Robbie’s ass is still great — probably even better, thanks sadistic trainers — and Georgie loves it. Some things don’t change.

“You’re not—” Georgie says. “With anyone else.”

“No fucking clue what you’re trying to get at,” Robbie says, grabbing his pants. “Why don’t you try putting it in an actual sentence.”

“You’re not fucking anyone else, are you?” Georgie asks, apropos of fucking nothing.

Robbie stills.

“Wow,” Robbie says. “That is the exact opposite of your business.”

“I know,” Georgie says.

“And like, super fucking hypocritical,” Robbie says. “Like you aren’t nailing—”

“I’m not fucking anyone else,” Georgie says.

Robbie barks out a laugh. “Right.”

“I’m not,” Georgie says.

“You know, maybe I’d be more inclined to believe you if you hadn’t slept with dozens of fucking people behind my back, but sorry, don’t fucking buy it,” Robbie says.

“It wasn’t dozens,” Georgie says.

“Do you want a prize?” Robbie asks. “Here’s your merit badge: ‘when I fucked around on my boyfriend it was with fewer than twenty-four people’. Wear it proudly.”

“Robbie, fuck,” Georgie says.

“Give me a number,” Robbie says impulsively.

“Don’t do this,” Georgie says. “Don’t do this to yourself.” 

“Twenty-three?” Robbie asks.

“Robbie,” Georgie says.

“Twenty-two,” Robbie says.

“Stop it,” Georgie says. “Don’t turn this into a fucking—”

“Twenty-one,” Robbie continues.

“Five,” Georgie bites out.

Robbie didn’t expect that to hurt as much as it does. 

“Wow,” he says, blinking rapidly at the floor. “Wow.”

“Fuck,” Georgie says. “Fuck, Robbie, I’m — I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I have to go,” Robbie mumbles, fumbling into his pants with dumb, uncooperative hands.

“Can we talk about this?” Georgie says. “Can we talk this thing out properly for once? Whatever you want to ask, I’ll answer, whatever you want to say, I’ll listen, I just need—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you need,” Robbie says, and somehow he manages to get dressed, get the fuck out of there, ignoring whatever fucking bullshit is coming out of Georgie’s mouth while Robbie’s leaving him.

*

It’s a damn good thing that Georgie’s room is only three doors down from Robbie and Matty’s, because Robbie’s not sure he would have made it otherwise. His hands shake too hard to get the keycard in the first try, and he tries to get them to stop, but they just keep on shaking. They don’t even feel like his hands.

He finally manages to get the door open the third try, and realizes he shouldn’t have come here. He’s not sure where else he could have _gone_ , but he can’t — he needs to be — Matty’s —

Matty looks up from his laptop. “Are you—”

“No, don’t ask, please leave me alone,” Robbie gets out, and he manages about three words of it without his voice breaking, but the rest of it collapses.

“Fine,” Matty bites out. “Whatever.”

It’s that, Matty as cold it comes, at least compared to the never-ending warmth that typically defines him, that breaks through the last line of defense Robbie has left. Robbie chokes on his own breath, which comes out like a sob, and his knees carry him to his bed but no further. He sinks down on it with the last of the energy he has.

“Robbie?” Matty asks. “I — seriously, you okay?”

Robbie shakes his head. He doesn’t know what it looks like — _no, not okay_ , or _no, fuck off asking_. He doesn’t know what he wants it to mean.

“Robbie,” Matty says, crawling out of bed, and when his hand lands heavily on Robbie’s back, Robbie loses the rest of his control and everything comes out of him in an ugly flood of words.

It’s the first time he’s actually told anyone, at least beyond the fundamentals. He told his mother, yeah, kind of, but he spared the details, and anyway, he thinks he was probably crying too hard for her to understand most of it. Not that he isn’t crying right now, which — fuck.

He doesn’t know how long it takes to get out, but by the time he’s done he’s cried himself out, he thinks. He’s already getting one of those pounding headaches that come after, like hey, whatever you’re sobbing over isn’t punishment enough, let’s give you some physical pain on top of the emotional fucking mess that is your head right now.

Matty hasn’t said a thing, didn’t interrupt him once, even when Robbie was pretty sure he wasn’t making any sense, talking in circles and tangents. Hell, he didn’t even interrupt when Robbie started tearily mumbling about how fucking unfair Georgie’s face was, how unfair it was he could use it like a fucking weapon.

Robbie rubs a hand over his face, scrubbing the tears away, and Matty still isn’t saying anything.

“So,” Robbie says. “Yeah. Can you say something?”

“I’m going to kill him,” Matty says quietly.

“You won’t even kill spiders,” Robbie sniffles.

“What have spiders ever done to deserve dying?” Matty asks. “Unless you’re in, like, Australia, they’re harmless.”

“They’re creepy,” Robbie says. “They have too many legs.”

“They kill mosquitoes,” Matty says.

“Point for spiders,” Robbie says. “Still creepy.”

Matty rubs his back.

“My point is that you are not the murdering kind,” Robbie says.

“Devon is,” Matty says.

“Craney is,” Robbie agrees. “Dev knows we were together, don’t tell him the rest.”

“Why?” Matty says. “You don’t need to prot—”

“Don’t tell him,” Robbie repeats.

“Okay,” Matty says. “Can I do anything?”

Robbie chews his lip. “The back rubbing’s pretty good,” he says. “You’re going to make a good mom.”

Matty smacks him between the shoulderblades, but goes back to rubbing, this span from the base of his neck to the small of his back, slow enough to lull. His mamma used to do this when he wasn’t feeling well, he remembers, until he was too old for it, or at least thought he was. He doesn’t feel too old for it right now.

“Why are you doing this?” Matty asks after a minute. “With him?”

“I like torturing myself,” Robbie says, and can’t hold back a laugh that sounds as ugly as it feels.

“I really wish you were kidding,” Matty says, soft.

“I mean, I am, maybe,” Robbie says. “I don’t — who the fuck likes torturing himself? I just…”

“You just do it anyway,” Matty says.

“Yeah,” Robbie says.

“Are you still in love with him?” Matty asks.

“Who said I was ever—” Robbie starts.

“Robbie,” Matty says, low but firm.

“I don’t know,” Robbie says. “Does it still count if you kind of want them to die?”

“I don’t know,” Matty says. “Maybe?”

“Then maybe,” Robbie says.

Matty looks at him with an expression so somber that Robbie can’t meet his eye, has to look away.

 _Yeah_ , Robbie thinks numbly. _Yeah, that pretty much sums it up_.


End file.
